Friends Do Let Friends Drunk Dial
by Ryl
Summary: Can anything good come of a late night phone call?


Written for Babecakesrus' October 2011 Plum-of-the-Month: Two for the Dough Challenge, Week 3, Scenario C in which Stephanie gets a happy phone call between 11 pm and 9 am. Originally posted October 29, 2011.

Huge thanks to Stayce, who not only edited, but very graciously drunked up Lester and Ranger. You went above and beyond on this one, Babe!

**Friends Do Let Friends Drunk Dial**

I've found that phone calls between 11 pm and 9 am are almost never good news. When I was in the eighth grade, Mom got a call from Aunt Alice telling her that my cousin Rodney had changed his name to Ronda. In my senior year it was Uncle Lou calling about Aunt Lois' stroke. Not to mention the night Grandpa Mazur took a one-way trip to the all you can eat buffet in the sky...

So when my phone rang at precisely 2:35 am (I knew the exact time because I had to stare at the clock for a full twenty seconds for it to make sense), I wasn't expecting good news. In fact, you could say that I was expecting bad news. For the person calling me. It's not a good idea to wake me up in the middle of the night. Unless, of course, it's for half-asleep sex. That's seriously some of the best sex ever. Anyway, since I'm not into phone sex, I thought that I was fairly safe in assuming that the person on the other end of the line was in for a world of trouble.

"Boo-full!" A drunken voice slurred my nickname, and my eyes widened.

"Lester?" I asked. "Is that you?"

"'Course it's me. Who elsh would it be?" he demanded. "I'm th'only one who callsh you Boo-d-ful."

Sadly, he was right.

"Is everything okay?" I demanded, trying to figure out why he was calling me when he was drunk. Hmm... Maybe I'd answered my own question. Or had someone been hurt? Was he drinking because someone had _died_? My middle of the night, half-asleep thoughts galloped out of control before he spoke again.

"I'z fine," he said. "I'z better'n fine. Imma here wif Tank 'n Ranger, an we're _drunk_!"

He said the last word so proudly that I couldn't help but smile, even while I plotted how to pay him back for waking me up. Nair in his shampoo had a certain appeal...

"Where's 'here'?" I asked, trying to picture Ranger, Tank, and Lester drunk in a bar. It didn't seem likely. And didn't bars close earlier? Sheesh. I couldn't even remember what closing time was. Probably I should get out more, so that _I_ could be the one making a drunken phone call. Okay, most likely not a good idea.

"Bat Cave," he announced, obviously proud of himself. "Do-doot do-doot do doot do-doot, Do-doot do-doot do-doot do-doot. BAT CAVE!" he sang.

"Are you making fun of me?" I asked. "Who told you about the Bat Cave?" And why was I questioning him? Drunk people weren't exactly known for making sense.

"Boo-ful! Make funna you? Naaaaah!"

"You tease me all the time," I pointed out.

"Oh. Yeah, but that's cuz you're hot," he said, as if I should have known this.

"Lester, you're not making sense. Are you sure you meant to call me?"

"'Wassamadda wif you? Course I wanteda call you! I'm at the _Bat Cave_! Arenchew lissing? Listeding? Lisnaning?" And then I heard him mutter something like, "I thought _I_ was drunk, not _her_."

Fantastic. A drunk Merry Man had called me in the middle of the night to question my intelligence. This conversation was going rapidly downhill.

"Okay, Lester," I said, using a pacifying tone even though what I really wanted to do was slam the receiver down a few times so hard that he still heard the echo in the morning. "You're at the Bat Cave. Is there anything else you wanted to tell me?"

"Yeah! Batman's lone-y!" he said in a loud whisper. "He's a-a-a-a-a-a-all alone an' he needs you."

"Lester, I'm not meeting you at some dive because you're too drunk for any sane woman to pick you up."

"Not me! _Batman's_ lonely. An broody. Well, Batman's always broody. But he's worsh when you're not around." His whisper was getting progressively louder. "An I fink he's prolly horny, too. Yup."

"He's with you, isn't he?" I asked. "So he can't be lonely."

"Course he can," he said scornfully. "He's lonedy when you're not wiff him. Don't matter who elsh is around."

I sat up and adjusted my pillow so that I could lean against the headboard. And maybe I thwacked my head against it a few times, just for good measure. "So, you're at the Bat Cave with Batman," I summarized. "Does that make you Robin, or are you Alfred?"

I grinned at his shocked silence. Ha! Take that, drunk boy. He probably couldn't think his way out of a paper bag at this point, and my witty sally could very well be the death blow to this conversation. I should be so lucky.

"Hey!" he protested weakly.

"Sorry, Lester," I said, talking around a yawn. "Cat Woman?" I asked, not wanting to discriminate. I mean, honestly. The way Lester talked about his conquests so much, I'd always harboured a niggling suspicion that he batted (ha!) for the other team. And who was I to discriminate? Cat Woman was pretty darn cool. In an evil way, of course. Huh. Probably Lester wouldn't like being evil. "Bat Girl?"

Lester swore really well for a drunk guy.

"So, is this conversation going somewhere?" I asked when the stream of expletives had slowed to a trickle. Thank God he wouldn't remember any of this in the morning, I thought. Otherwise, I'd be scared for my own personal safety. As it was, he'd probably wake up with a headache and a story about both Cat Woman and Bat Girl propositioning him.

"Can't believe you're dissing Batman," he muttered. "That's sacri... sackoo... sarco... stupid. Din't think Wunner Woman would _ever_ diss Batman."

My eyes widened. Was he calling me Wonder Woman? How did he find out about that? Shit! Did that mean that he knew I called Ranger Batman? I'd been so careful! I'd never called Ranger Batman in front of his men! Mostly because I didn't have a death wish. Or good health insurance. But still! How did Lester know?

"Batman's lonely," he repeated, apparently trying to get the conversation back on track. "And me an th'other Merry Men are tired of listen'n to 'im bitch!"

Double shit! They knew about the Merry Men nickname? I whipped the nail I was gnawing out of my mouth. No sense going to the grave with a ruined manicure.

"You gotta come," Lester insisted. "Batman _needs_ you. He won't shtop talking bout how hot you are, and how much he loves you, and all the ways he'll-hey!" he exclaimed. "He loooves you," he said in a sing-song voice eerily reminiscent of Sandra Bullock in Miss Congeniality. "He loooves you! He wants to kiiiiiis you!" The Academy Award winning performance was cut short, and I heard the sounds of a scuffle and an argument. Several grunts and swears later, a new voice came over the line.

"Babe?"

The finger with a half-bitten nail somehow made its way back to my mouth. Screw the manicure!

"Ranger?" I asked hesitantly.

"Nope. Batman," he announced, almost as proudly as Lester had said that he was drunk. Besides, Ranger didn't need to tell me he was drunk. A sober Ranger would never, ever refer to himself as Batman.

"How's it going?" I asked inanely.

"Good," he said simply, and I realized that a drunk Ranger was not necessarily more talkative than a sober Ranger.

"So..." I began, but stopped. If possible, this conversation was even more awkward than the one with Lester.

Before he could reply, I heard chanting in the background. "Tell her! Tell her! Tell her!" If I wasn't mistaken, I could hear shot glasses being slammed on a table.

"What's going on?" I asked, curiosity loosening my tongue. "Are you guys at a bar? What are you supposed to tell me?"

"Shuddup, dick heads," he growled. I hoped it was directed at the Merry Men, and not me. It was probably the Merry Men, I decided. Ranger might _want_ me to shut up, but he wouldn't call me a dick head. He was more likely to kiss me into stupefied oblivion. Much better than being called a dick head.

"Babe?" Ranger asked, and I realized I had zoned out for a moment.

"Sorry. Where were we? Oh, right. You were about to tell me something," I reminded him, half curious and half nervous about whatever he was supposed to be saying.

I heard a boisterous chant of, "Go, Ranger! Go, Ranger!" in the background.

"We're playin Troof or Dare," Ranger whispered, as if it were a secret, and I couldn't help laughing.

"Seriously? You're playing Truth or Dare? With the Merry Men?" I had a flashback to my childhood sleepovers, and couldn't help envisioning the men doing each other's nails and make-up.

"I took troot," he continued, still in a whisper. "Couldn't risk dare. Dare was bad! Jus ask Tank!"

"What happened to Tank?" I asked, deliberately avoiding telling him that apparently, Ranger had also chosen dare. Truth was supposed to be only for the people in the group, not calling someone up and telling them the truth!

"He had ta mow the grass," Ranger said.

I shrugged. "That doesn't sound so bad."

"No. He had to _mow the grass_."

"I don't get it," I said. "Did he have to do it in his tighty whities, or something?"

"Worser," Ranger said, amused. "Couldn't wear nothin to mow this grass. Ged whad I mean?"

I had to think about it for a minute, but when I finally figured it out, I had to clap a hand over my mouth. "No. Way!" I breathed. "Did it involve wax?" I couldn't help asking.

"Yeah," he said, sounding horrified and awed at the same time. "So I wen wif truf."

I blinked, still trying to shake the current visual invading my brain. "Good call." I couldn't help thinking that the guys must be really smashed. How else could Tank have been talked into it?

"So," I finally asked. "What's with the truth thing?"

"Oh," he said, apparently without engaging his inner editor. " Lesser says I'm sposed ta tell ya how much I luuuuuuv ya!"

And I stopped breathing. I know this, because when I came back to myself my lungs were burning and my face was hot. "You love me?" I squeaked.

"Du-uh," he said, and I could almost see him rolling his eyes. "An you need ta come visit the Bat Cave. Not tonight cuz Tank's passed out on the floor, an no way I'm touchin' him."

"You love me?" I repeated.

"I said dat! Letser was right. _You're_ the drunk one!"

"You love me!" My momentary elation faltered. "Wait. You're not just saying this because you're drunk, are you?"

"Sure I am!" he answered cheerfully, and I had to close my eyes to fight the tears of disappointment. "S' only way I could," he whispered, as if confiding a secret. "The guys think I don't know they got me drunk on purple so I'd tell ya. I let them," he finished proudly. "Don't tell 'em. Issa secet."

"You let them."

"Yup! Cause whad if you din'nt love me back? Hurts less drunk."

"I love you, too," I said, not caring that he was drunk. "Are you going to remember any of this in the morning?"

"Don't matter. Bobby's recording everything on his phone... he sez for postherapy."

I smiled, thinking of the look on Ranger's face when he played the tape in the morning. I _definitely_ needed to swing by the office with The Cure in the morning.

"Gotta go, Babe," he said. ""Lister's gonna write his name inna snow."

I frowned. "It's July, Ranger. There's no snow."

"Shit."

"I'll see you in the morning," I told him, but he had already disconnected. Apparently drunk Ranger didn't have better phone manners than sober Ranger. I snuggled under the covers, reliving the conversation in my mind. Even if he didn't remember a word of it in the morning, and even if he denied what he'd said, it would still go down in my books as the best ever middle of the night phone call.


End file.
